Chapter 2: The Edge of Desire
The door clicked shut behind them, and the sound of the city fell away like a curtain dropping. Leonid's apartment wrapped around them in velvet shadows, the deep crimson curtains doing little to hold back the amber glow spilling from the single lamp beside his bed. He didn't turn on any other lights. He never did when she came over.
Jennie stood in the entryway, letting her eyes adjust, letting the familiar scent of sandalwood and something darker—something that was purely, achingly Leonid—settle into her bones. She heard him shrug off his jacket, heard the soft thud of keys hitting the console table. Then his hands found her waist from behind, warm and sure, pulling her back against his chest.
"You're quiet tonight," he murmured against her hair. "Everything okay?"
She leaned into him, letting her head fall back against his shoulder. The height difference never failed to send a small thrill through her—the way she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes, the way he had to bend slightly to press his lips to her forehead.
"Everything's perfect," she said, and meant it.
His hands slid up her sides, thumbs tracing the curve of her ribs through the thin silk of her dress. "That jazz place was good, yeah? I was worried it might be too stuffy."
"It was wonderful." She turned in his arms, looking up at him. The lamplight caught the sharp angles of his face, the prominent Adam's apple she wanted to press her lips to, the dark curls that fell just slightly over his brow. "You always pick the best places."
He smiled, that crooked smile that made something twist pleasantly in her chest. "I try." He paused, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "You look beautiful tonight. You know that?"
Jennie's breath caught. Every time he said it, it hit her like a wave. She'd heard those words from other people, other mouths, but from him they felt different. Like he was seeing something true.
"Tell me again," she whispered.
Leonid's smile deepened. His hands cupped her face, tilting it up, and he kissed her. Slow and deep, his tongue sliding against hers with an ease that made her knees weaken. She gripped his shirt, pulling him closer. He tasted like whiskey and something sweet from the bar—the old fashioned he'd ordered, the one she'd sipped from just to taste it on her own lips.
"I could tell you every day," he said against her mouth. "Every hour. Every minute you'd let me."
She made a sound—half laugh, half moan—and pushed up on her toes to kiss him harder. He responded immediately, one hand sliding into her hair, the other pressing against the small of her back. They stumbled toward the bedroom, shedding pieces of the evening as they went. Her heels came off first, clattering somewhere on the hardwood. His belt buckle jingled as she tugged at it, earning a low chuckle from him.
"Impatient tonight," he observed.
"Always." She bit his lower lip, just hard enough to make him hiss. "You keep me waiting too long."
He laughed, the sound vibrating against her chest. It was the laugh she'd heard him share with Jensen over beers at a bar, with his line cooks during the dinner rush, with the old woman who ran the flower shop next to his restaurant. Open and warm and utterly without reservation. But here, in the dim light of his bedroom, it was directed at her. Only her.
They tumbled onto the bed, the dark silk sheets cool against her bare legs. Leonid hovered above her, drinking her in. His hands smoothed down her sides, tracing the outline of her body through the green silk. She watched his face, watched the hunger flicker behind his eyes, mixing with something softer, more reverent.
"You have no idea," he said, his voice rougher now, "what you do to me."
"Show me."
He didn't need further encouragement. His hands found the hem of her dress, inching it upward. He went slowly, deliberately, revealing inch after inch of her skin. The night air raised goosebumps along her thighs. She lifted her hips, helping him, wanting to feel his hands on her with nothing between them.
When the dress finally pooled around her waist, he stopped. His breath caught.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Look at you."
She was wearing the underwear he'd mentioned once, months ago, in passing—a silky little scrap of black lace that left little to the imagination. He'd said he liked that style on a woman, liked the way it framed things, the promise of what was underneath. She'd remembered. Of course she'd remembered. She remembered everything he'd ever said, filed it away, used it with precision.
"You like it?" Her voice was soft, coy. Playing the game.
"I like everything about you." He ducked his head, pressing his mouth to her stomach, just above the waistband. A moan escaped her. "But I like this a lot, too."
His fingers hooked into the sides of her underwear, dragging them down her legs slowly. She lifted her hips again, eager, aching. When they were gone, he sat back on his heels and looked at her. Fully bare. Fully revealed. A flush crept up her chest under his gaze, a strange mix of vulnerability and triumph.
"Come here," she whispered.
He came willingly, shedding the rest of his clothes with an urgency that made her smile. His shirt went first, buttons straining as he pulled it over his head. The pale plane of his chest uncovered, muscle shifting beneath skin in the low light. He was beautiful in a way that made her chest ache—the trail of dark hair leading from his navel downward, the defined lines of his torso, the visible veins tracing across his arms. And then his pants came off, and everything else faded.
He was hard for her. Already. She reached out and took him in her hand, feeling the weight of him, the heat of him. He groaned, his head dropping back, his eyes closing. The sound went straight through her, settling somewhere deep and primal.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he said, echoing his earlier words.
She pumped him slowly, watching his face contort with pleasure. "Tell me."
"I think about you all day." His voice was strained. "Every spare moment, I'm thinking about this. About you. About the sounds you make." He shuddered as her thumb swept across the head. "Fuck. Just like that."
She smiled, something dark and satisfied unfurling in her chest. This. This was what she craved. Not just the physical act, but the power of it. The knowledge that she, and only she, could bring him to this point. That he was hers.
As Jensen, she'd watched him date in college. Pretty girls with easy smiles who never lasted more than a few months. She'd learned their patterns, their preferences, their failures. She'd learned what made them fall short, and she'd become the opposite of all of it.
Jennie was all of them and none of them. Jennie was perfect.
"Come here." She tugged on his hand, pulling him down onto the bed with her. "I want to feel you."
He stretched out above her, his body covering hers in a way that made her feel safe and possessed all at once. The fine hairs on his chest grazed her nipples, making them tighten. She arched into him, wanting more contact, more friction, more everything.
He dipped his head and caught her nipple in his mouth. A jolt of pure electricity shot through her body. He sucked gently, then harder, laving her with his tongue until she was writhing beneath him.
"Oh God," she gasped.
His hand slid down her stomach, teasing the junction of her thighs. He didn't touch her where she wanted him to—not yet. Instead he traced patterns on the inside of her thigh, making her twitch and squirm.
"Leonid," she breathed. "Please."
"Please what?" He lifted his head, eyes dark with hunger and something playful. "You know I love hearing you beg."
A flush spread across her cheeks, but she didn't care. She was past caring. She needed him inside her with a desperation that bordered on madness.
"Touch me," she demanded. "Make me come. I want it."
He grinned—that wicked, knowing grin that made her thighs clench. Then his hand moved, his fingers parting her slick folds, finding her clit with unerring accuracy. She gasped, her hips bucking against his hand. He circled her slowly, deliberately, driving her mad.
"You feel that?" His mouth was at her ear now, his voice low and rough. "This is all for you. Everything I have is for you."
"I want you inside me," she managed. "Please. I need it—I need you."
He didn't make her wait. He shifted, positioning himself between her legs. She felt him press against her entrance, hot and hard, and then he pushed in—slow, impossibly slow, inch by agonizing inch.
They both moaned. She gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle as he filled her entirely. There was a moment of perfect stillness, of perfect union, and then he began to move.
It was slow at first, deep and deliberate. Each stroke pressing against places inside her that made her see stars. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper still, and he groaned at the added friction.
"Fuck," he hissed. "You feel so good. So tight. You were made for me."
The words struck her deeper than he knew. She looked up at him—his face flushed with pleasure, his jaw slack, his eyes half-lidded with bliss—and felt something crack open in her chest. Love, obsession, need. They were all the same thing now. All braided together so tightly she couldn't tell where one ended and the others began.
"I love you," she whispered.
His rhythm stuttered. His eyes flew open, meeting hers, and she saw something there she'd never seen before—a flash of vulnerability that cut straight through her.
"I love you too," he said, and the words came out ragged, raw, like they'd been torn from somewhere deep inside him. "God, I love you so much."
He kissed her then, frantic and hungry, pouring everything into it. Her hips rose to meet his stroke for stroke, the heat building between them, climbing higher and higher. She could feel the edge approaching—that precipice she'd been dancing along since he first pushed inside her.
"Don't stop," she begged. "Please don't stop. I'm so close—"
"Come for me," he said against her mouth. "Let go, baby. I've got you. Come with me."
She tumbled over the edge, a scream caught in her throat as pleasure crashed over her in white-hot waves. He followed moments later, his body shuddering against hers, his face buried in her neck. She felt him pulse inside her, felt the warmth spreading, and something primal in her chest purred with satisfaction.
They lay tangled together, slick with sweat, breathing hard. His weight pressed her into the mattress, but she didn't want him to move. She wanted to stay like this forever—wrapped around each other, gasping, hers.
"I love you," he said again, quieter this time, like he was testing the words out. He lifted his head, looking down at her with an expression she couldn't read. "I've never said that to anyone before."
Something caught in her chest. A flicker of guilt, quickly suppressed. She reached up and touched his face, tracing the line of his jaw, the sharp cheekbones.
"I know." She smiled up at him. "I love you too."
He rolled off her, pulling her with him so she was tucked against his side. His hand traced lazy patterns on her back, raising goosebumps across her skin.
"I've been thinking," he said slowly. She felt his heartbeat quicken beneath her ear. "About us. About the future."
Apprehension flickered through her, but she kept her voice light. "What about us?"
He was quiet for a moment. She felt his fingers comb through her hair, tangle gently in the strands.
"I want to marry you someday." The words came out soft but certain. "I know it's crazy. We haven't been together that long. But I know what I want." He paused. "I know who I want."
The words landed hard. Her heart stopped, raced, stumbled. A complicated tangle of joy and dread twisted her stomach into knots. Because she knew that someday would never come. Because she knew who she really was, what he was really promising.
"Leonid—" She sat up, looking down at him. "Are you being serious?"
He propped himself on his elbows, meeting her gaze. "I've never been more serious about anything in my life." He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I want kids someday, too. Two or three. I want a house in the suburbs where I can grill on weekends and yell at my kids for staying out past curfew." A sheepish smile crossed his face. "Cheesy, I know."
Her chest constricted painfully. Kids. He wanted kids. With her. And she—she could give him that, couldn't she? She shifted forms at will, moved between male and female like other people changed clothes. Could she carry his child? She wasn't sure. She'd never tried. And the thought terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.
"I want that too," she said softly. And meant it.
He reached up and pulled her down for a kiss, soft and lingering. When they parted, his eyes roamed her face like he was memorizing every detail.
"I don't know what I did to deserve you," he said. "But I'm going to spend every day making sure I keep you."
Emotion welled in her throat, thick and suffocating. She blinked, forcing back the sudden sting of tears.
"Promise?" she whispered.
"Promise."
They drifted off to sleep tangled in each other, Leonid's arms wrapped around her protectively. In the dim glow of the lamp, she traced the veins on his arm, committed the feel of his skin to memory. Tomorrow she would wake as someone else. She would have lunch with him as Jensen and hear all about his evening with Jennie. But tonight, she was his. Completely.
Just before sleep claimed her, a dark thought surfaced through the haze of contentment.
He wanted children. He wanted a future. And she was building him a lie that could never sustain one.
But as his breath evened out and his arms tightened around her in his sleep, she pushed the thought away. She'd deal with it later. She always did. For now, she let herself be loved, let herself love, and pretended—just for a few precious hours—that she wasn't living a lie that would eventually destroy them all.